The World Fell At Our Feet
by Princess Sammi
Summary: Three-shot: 'They say that time's supposed to heal ya, but I ain't done much healing'. HB/Drill *Trigger: please note the warning at the beginning* Chapter 3 uploaded!
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: I don't own The Worst Witch. The title, summary and inspiration comes from 'Hello' by Adele.**

 **Warning: CONTAINS SLIGHT REFERENCE TO MISCARRIAGE/STILLBIRTH **

**A/N: Has anyone else broken the repeat button listening to Adele's new masterpiece or is it just me? No, seriously. I fell in love with the song as soon as I had first heard it and - suffering writers block for 39 Deg -my mind instantly began plotting a way to do something with it. This r** **esulte** **d in playing it again and again and again and again and; you get the picture.**

 **Obviously, I know two women cannot make a baby so let's just assume that magic played its part somewhere.**

 **Cheers m'dears to typicalRAinbow for her advice and little suggestions when I landed the previous draft of this on her earlier in the week.: )  
**

* * *

 **The World Fell At Our Feet  
**

 **Chapter One: All The Roads We Have To Walk Are Winding**

The roaring fire had died away to nothing hours ago yet she had barely registered the coldness that was now seeping into her bones. It could be easily argued that this was because she was used to it. After all, one could hardly have lived in a constantly draughty castle for years and not have developed at least a certain level of immunity to the cold, but, this was not the case. It was quite simple really: she couldn't the feel biting chill that was in the air because the temperature was not the coldest thing in the room.

'Ice Queen'.

That was what the students of Cackle's used to call her; they had always believed that she had no idea but she knew, oh how she knew…

A heavy sigh escaped from her lips as she addressed the envelope in her trademark calligraphic style, turning the letter over, she gently placed it down on the table before she topped up her glass of wine, not even caring that she had barely eaten a thing all day. All it was missing now was a stamp but, other than that, it was ready to send.

Yes…

A bitter laugh, intermingled with a sob, stuck in her throat at the sheer ridiculousness of her own thoughts. I mean, really…

 _A stamp!_

Who was she kidding?

Of course she wouldn't send it; she hadn't sent any of them.

* * *

It had been a year.

365 days.

Five hundred, twenty five thousand, six hundred minutes… and it was still as raw as when it had happened. It was said that time was a great healer but the trouble with time was that there was no end date.

To most, today was just one day out of 364 others but it was a date that would forever be carved deep into her heart, reminding her of how close she had come to having everything she had ever wanted, only to watch it all slip through her fingers. It had been dangled in front of her; a seemingly once impossible dream, and then it was cruelly ripped away. Her left hand subconsciously moved to her flat stomach and rested there for a few minutes.

Now, the tatters were all that remained of her happy ending.

She had felt the baby – their baby – growing inside of her; she had felt her kick. The pregnancy had not exactly been planned but once she had gotten over the initial shock, she had loved her so much, counting down the days until they would finally meet her; she had sworn to protect her every day of her life, only for the world to take her before they had even been given a chance.

That hour and fourteen minutes they had spent with their newborn daughter was the most beautiful and most heartbreaking moment of her life, all the other pain she had ever experienced had paled into insignificance. She had just looked like she was sleeping. She was so tiny; so perfect.

How had it all gone so wrong?

Heckitty Broomhead was right - she was useless!

The one thing that a woman was supposed to be able to do and she couldn't even get that right!

The aftermath was still somewhat of a blur for her but staff and students alike could tell you how worried they had been for the deputy's increasingly fragile state of mind; it wasn't the woman they had come to know.

It was as though she had given up completely

When the students had first heard that their potions teacher was pregnant, it hadn't sat right with many of them. They had accepted that their respective teachers were now in fact a couple, which was fine; it was sweet actually, but this was Constance Hardbroom for crying out loud – she was definitely not mother material!

The topic of how some had pitied the child had been discussed in whispered conversations, immature minds judging what they did not understand, blissfully unaware that the form mistress was standing in the shadows listening to their every word. That sound of the beaker smashing though, causing them to look up from their work, just in time to see their teacher protectively cradling her bump, a pitiful howl escaping from her lips as she had fallen to her knees in absolute agony, was an image that would stay with them for a long, long time.

Amelia Cackle could tell you how she had shut herself in her room, abandoning everything around her. For nearly two weeks, she had refused to say a word to anyone but the defeated look in her swollen and bloodshot eyes as they had stared, unblinking, into the distance had said more than any words ever could.

The headmistress had of course granted both her members of staff time off under such tragic circumstances but it had broken her heart to see the woman she had considered her own daughter in such a dangerously low place and equally to see one of her closest friends lose everything that she had held dear. There was nothing she could do except watch on as the couple had drifted beyond the point of breaking.

Davina Bat could tell you how she had refused to eat a thing, relying solely on her magic to sustain her, and that the only sleep she had gotten was through either crying herself into utter exhaustion or from the sleeping potion - she had pretended not to notice – stirred into her tea.

Imogen Drill could tell you how her girlfriend had clung to her for five days straight like a lost little girl before she had pushed her out and refused to let her back in.

Right from the start she had told Imogen she was no good; she had warned her she would only hurt her in the end.

At least that was one promise she hadn't broken.

* * *

Over the past few months, she had written many letters, and every single one of them had ended up in the exact same place: the drawer of her dressing table, where their only destiny was to lie there gathering dust and to never be read by the one whom they were intended. Not for the first time, she wondered, fleetingly, why she continued to bother at all.

Imogen would never see them.

Broomhead would have no doubt called it a complete waste of time and would have had no qualms in using physical violence to get her point across while she chastised her for daring to betray her emotions, gleefully whispering in her ear that she wasn't worthy of happiness and in the end had only gotten what she deserved. Whether it was madness or not though, she could not deny that writing those letters provided her with a outlet of release for her pain and even if the words would never be read, she wanted the gym-mistress to know how truly sorry she was for giving up on them. Imogen had been strong for the both of them but she had crumbled.

They had tried but every day was a constant reminder; every hour a pain crushing reality of what would never be.

It was too much.

Leaving had been selfish but not as selfish if she had stayed. She knew that her girlfriend would never ask her to go – the blonde had **_begged_** her to stay, she had **_pleaded_ ** with her, her cries heart-rending... but they had both needed time … time apart.

It was supposed to be few days; a week at most but, somehow, that week had turned into two.

Three weeks.

Four months

Seven months.

One year.

And now, going back wasn't so easy.

Was there even anything to go back for?

* * *

She would give almost anything just to hear her voice again, the whispers of sweet nothings -and dirty talk- in her ear in their more intimate moments. She missed her laugh; hell, she even missed that out-of-tune singing voice she used to tease her about.

Believe it or not, she missed their arguments because no one had ever fought with as much passion as she had, the tenacious personalities clashing and exploding in a mesh of different – yet so very similar ideals – and of course, after the fight, always came the making up…

She missed her touch and how she could always make her feel as though she was the most special woman in the world when she herself knew the exact opposite to be true. She missed their cuddles, how she – and only she – could calm her down after another childhood nightmare; stroking her hair as she whispered that she was safe and she would never let anyone hurt her.

She missed being able to look into those captivating eyes, they sparkled like emeralds in the sun and it was so beautiful to look at. When they had first found out they were expecting, she had secretly hoped there would be another green pair of eyes for her to fall in love with.

She missed her.

She missed them.

She missed what they had; what could have been.

It was too late now though, wasn't it?

* * *

Her hand shook as she picked up the receiver and dialled the number she had committed to memory - she had no idea whether it was even still active or not but, right now, it was all she had. Her heart was in her mouth and with every second that passed she began to feel more and more ill, her level of fear going into complete overdrive as a host of 'what if's' ran through her mind.

 _'What if she slams the phone down?'_

 _'What if someone else picks it up...?'_

 _'What if -'_

This wasn't a good idea; it would blow up in her face.

 _'Hang up, Constance…don't do this; hang up.'_

Her fingers wouldn't compute though.

She waited anxiously as it rang and rang until, eventually; a familiar voice was on the other end.

"Hello?"

* * *

She was a million miles away yet she still felt so close.

"…it's me."


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: I don't own The Worst Witch.**

 **Warning: CONTAINS SLIGHT REFERENCE TO MISCARRIAGE/STILLBIRTH**

 **A/N: Thank you for your kind comments on the last chapter - I was very nervous about posting it. I have decided to add a second chapter, this time we are on Imogen's side of the world.**

 **My jam of this week is 'Wonderwall' by Oasis so that is where the c** **hapter titles have come from. :)**

* * *

 **The World Fell At Our Feet**

 **Chapter Two: All The Lights That Lead The Way Are Blinding**

"Happy Birthday, Princess."

She whispered the words to the empty room before she blew out the lone candle that was atop the pink frosted cupcake she had picked up from Cosies' Tearoom earlier that afternoon. She had no intention of actually eating the cake herself but had simply wanted the sentiment to allow her to mark an important - yet incredibly bittersweet - date on her calendar.

How had it been a year?

365 days.

Five hundred, twenty five thousand, six hundred minutes...

If she closed her eyes, she could still hear the panicked scream of her name as Enid Nightshade had cut across her courtyard hockey game, running faster than she had ever done in any P.E lesson, the amusement of the situation instantly fading away as she had gone onto tell her that Miss Hardbroom had just collapsed to the potions lab floor in pain. The young girl's eyes had dropped to the ground before she had looked back up and met with the tearful green eyes, whispering a sentence that still sent chills down her teacher's spine.

"I think there's something wrong with the baby."

 _"I think there's something wrong with the baby."_

Those eight words had reverberated in her head for thirteen hours straight, each time driving further home the bleak reality that they were facing. It was poor Constance who had borne the brunt of it though as she had been faced with the agonising task of bringing their daughter into the world; the couple all too aware that almost as soon as they had said hello to her, they would have to say a final goodbye.

Her grip on her girlfriend's hand didn't falter for even a second but never in her life had she felt so beyond useless. She desperately wanted to be able to do something; to do anything that would help to ease the agony her sweetheart was enduring, but the words completely failed her.

After all, what could she say?

What encouragement could she possibly give that would make it any easier?

There was none.

There would be no first tooth cut or first step taken; there would be no teaching the ABC's or graduation to proudly attend; there would be no dance recitals or sports days; there would no birthdays or Christmases to celebrate and there would be no family cuddles or trips to feed the ducks at the local pond. There would be no one to call her 'Mama' and no one to call herself 'Mummy'.

Where a cry should have signalled their baby's arrival in the world, there was only silence.

It was the beginning of the end.

* * *

Today should have been such a happy day, the two of them, surrounded by their closest family and friends as they celebrated their daughter – their Gracie's – first birthday. There should have been balloons and presents, party games and cake; love and laughter but, somewhere along the line, it had all fallen apart. Now, instead of joy and light in her life, she was sat alone with only a bottle of whisky and her broken dreams for company while Constance was –

Well, the truth was that she had absolutely no idea where Constance Hardbroom was.

Nobody did.

Despite them fighting tooth and nail to get her to disclose a location, the potions mistress had refused to tell anyone where she was going. The blonde suspected though that a large part of that had been down to the fact that, at the time, other than "anywhere but here", Constance herself hadn't known where she was headed. **  
**

What the gym-mistress did know, however, was that it had now been 299 days.

Yes, it had been 299 days since she had chased her girlfriend into the school courtyard in a last ditch attempt to stop her from leaving. Not even the weather could grant them mercy that day as it had cried heavy tears of melancholy, joining them in mourning all that they had had, and all that they had lost.

It had been 299 days since her attempt had failed.

 _"Please, I'm begging you, Constance...don't go."_

 _"I have to, Imogen. I love you so much but all of this - it's my fault...I killed her."_

 _"No, sweetheart. Oh, god, please don't think that...don't ever think that. You did everything right, okay?"_

 _"...so why wasn't it enough?!"_

 _"It was just...I-I don't know, darling, but we can fix it; together. You and me. Stay...please."_

 _"I can't. I-I need time, Im...on my own. We both do."_

 _"You're c-coming back though?"_

 _"...I promise."_

And yet, there had been such a large part of her that had really thought Constance would change her mind at the last minute and decide to stay but she hadn't. She had left. Suddenly, in the short space of two months, Imogen Drill had lost the two most important people in her world and there was nothing that could replace that feeling of never-ending emptiness she felt inside.

In truth though, she knew she had already lost them both the day Gracie had died.

While the unexpected stillbirth had devastated them both beyond belief, it had damaged something deep within the brunette; shattering the very essence of who she was. It was as if all the fight had left her.

She could only stand on the sidelines and watch as everything she had fallen in love with in this wonderful woman - the brains, the wit, the humour, and the fire - faded to nothing. It broke her heart even more to see such a strong woman so utterly defeated but there was no consoling her. The vacant brown and bloodshot eyes would just stare, unblinking, into the distance for hours at a time; every increasingly desperate plea falling on deaf ears.

 _"Get some sleep, sweetheart."_

 _"You have to try and eat, love."_

 _"Please, eat something, darling. You're going to land yourself in hospital at this rate."_

 _"Talk to me, pet."_

 _"You can't stay in here forever, honey."_

 _"Don't shut me out, Connie."_

 _"Cece-bee…open the door."_

She had stood in the doorway most nights and watched her girlfriend in what was an evidently troubled slumber; tears streaming down her own cheeks as the witch had cried out, begging whoever or whatever it was not to take her baby...their baby. All she had wanted was to take her in her arms and just hold her, providing her with the comfort and solace that she too needed at such a harrowing and difficult time, but she couldn't.

For the first few days, the deputy had clung to her like a lost little girl and the two of them had held each other for hours, united in grieving the loss of their beautiful baby, but by the sixth day, unable to handle the tumultuous emotions that were clawing at her insides, Constance started to push her away.

By the tenth day, she had pushed her out.

* * *

Retrieving her photograph album from its place on the bookshelf, she took it back over to where she was sat, unable to decide if this was actually helping her or having completely the opposite effect. Biting the bullet, she opened it, a barrage of forgotten memories spilling out and mocking her as she flicked carefully through the pages.

Her eyes lingered on the picture of her with her then heavily pregnant girlfriend. She remembered the day it was taken and could still remember just how against it Constance had been, citing that she looked like a "beached whale" but, eventually, she had relented. She didn't look like a whale at all: she looked more beautiful than ever.

It sounded ridiculous but she was so, so jealous of that couple in the picture.

They looked so happy!

There had been so much hope; so much to look forward to, and they were robbed of it all...

...it was so unfair!

She turned another page, her heart stopping in her chest as she took in one of the few images that existed of their daughter; so tiny but so beautiful. Though Gracie had been a mixture of them both through the aid of magic, Constance had far outweighed her in the looks department and, as a result, the little girl had looked so much like her Mama that it still made her want to cry.

 _'I should've fought harder to stop her'._

Deep down though, she knew it wouldn't have made any difference.

She could only imagine how difficult it must have been for Constance to stand in that room after she had gone back to work: day in day out, hour after hour, minute upon minute; reliving it over and over again, like her own personal horror movie stuck on a permanent replay. In a way, she herself had been lucky - she used the term **_very, very loosely_** \- in that she could still go out running through the forest clearing and scream blue murder, venting out all her emotions with only the birds and the flowers around to hear her cries, but the witch's safe haven and route of escape had always been her potions laboratory.

Now, like so much else in her life, it was tainted.

* * *

She wondered how Constance was dealing with today; if she was dealing with today.

Though she tried to not to focus too much on it, there was a part of her that was still so incredibly angry with her for leaving in the first place but the compassionate side of her could understand why the potions mistress had felt it was the only thing she could do.

To an extent, even her leaving had been selfless: Constance knew that Imogen had needed her own chance and time to come to term with their daughter's untimely death and with all her energies currently focused on trying to stop her girlfriend from having a breakdown; it was never going to happen.

As another hour passed, she was starting to face up to the truth.

All day long, she had clung to this stupid secret fantasy that Constance would make contact. She hadn't expected it on her birthday, or Valentines. Not even on what would have been their anniversary, but, on today of all days, she had really thought -

Well, it didn't matter now, did it?

Maybe it was for the best...

...but for whom?

* * *

Downing the last of her drink, she decided that she may as well just turn in for the night; after all, there was nothing to stay up for. Picking up her phone, she went to turn it off and almost jumped out of her skin as it started to buzz with an incoming call.

 ** _"Unknown Number"_**

She couldn't breathe.

She daren't breath.

She wanted to answer it.

She couldn't answer it.

Her fingers seemed to freeze.

Her heart was in her mouth.

It wouldn't be

It couldn't be.

Could it?

* * *

One deep breath to steady her nerves and another one to calm her racing heart before she answered the call.

"Hello?"


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer: I don't own The Worst Witch. Chapter title and inspiration comes from 'The Scientist' by Coldplay/Glee Cast Version.**

 **Warning: CONTAINS SLIGHT REFERENCE TO MISCARRAIGE/STILLBIRTH**

 **A/N: Hello there, my apologies in the delay but my falling to bits laptop finally died on me so I had to put this on hold for a while. Now I have a beautiful new macbook and I have finally been able to get this chapter written.**

 **Thank you for your comments so far. :)**

 **I might write an epilogue or another (final) chapter, but I shall see.**

* * *

 **The World Fell At Our Feet**

 **Chapter Three: Take Me Back To The Start**

 _ **"For fuck sake, Constance. You don't own the monopoly on grief! I'm hurting as well...she was my baby too!"**_

 _ **The brunette visibly flinched at the anger that was present in the tones of the other woman. It was an anger that had clearly been building over the past few difficult weeks, slowly simmering away in the background as tensions between them had reached boiling point. Now, it was threatening to bubble over. The final cracks appearing as the foundations gave way, leaving an irreparable damage in their wake.**_

 _ **Deep down, the witch knew that she was right: Gracie had been just as much Imogen's as she had hers. She should have nodded and said she was sorry. She should have taken the blonde in her arms and told her that, somehow, they would get through this, but she didn't attempt to move. Recent events were the final straw in a long, long line of life's heartache and she had long lost the ability or even the want to fight. Emotionally, mentally and physically, she had nothing left to give.**_

 _ **"Yes, Imogen, but you didn't carry her; you didn't give birth to her!"**_

 _ **"Well, maybe if I had we wouldn't be here!"**_

 _ **The sentence that had just pierced the air was left hanging in the suffocating silence as the couple stared each other out.**_

 _ **No sooner had the words left her mouth, she instantly regretted it. She clapped her hand over her mouth in shock, unable to believe what she had just said; what she had just accused her girlfriend of…**_

 _ **She took a step forward, only for the witch to take a step back: a step away from her.**_

 _ **She felt awful.**_

 _ **She was officially the worst person in the world.**_

 _ **"Oh, god, Constance-I didn't mean that… I'm sorry. No, wait, please don't dis-"**_

 _ **The rest of the sentence went unfinished as the brunette vanished into thin air. Left standing alone in the corridor, the blonde backed into the nearest wall before sliding down it in an ungainly heap, pulling her knees to her chest as heavy sobs wracked her entire body.**_

* * *

She looked up as the bell of the cafe chimed, her heart hammering in her chest as the door fully opened, only for her hopes to be dashed once more as an old man entered with his wife. Despite her initial disappointment, she couldn't help but smile as she watched them. They looked so cute together as they walked hand in hand, the man gently guiding his wife to an available table and helping her to sit down before he himself went to join the queue.

 _'I wonder if we would have been like that…'_

* * *

 _ **With a deep breath, she turned the handle and entered the room having received no reply upon knocking on the door. She half-expected to enter to find her girlfriend curled up with her back against the wall, potentially with a bottle of vodka, similar to how she had found her a few weeks back when she had gone to their daughter's never-to-be-used nursery.**_

 _ **"It's not fair, Immy." she had whispered in between drunken sobs, before passing out in her arms, the combination of alcohol, not eating and grief taking its toll on the exhausted woman.**_

 _ **She wasn't though.**_

 _ **"Listen, sweetheart, I'm s-what are you doing?" the blonde asked, her eyes widening as she took in the half-packed suitcase that was currently taking up most of the bed.**_

 _ **The witch didn't even look up as she replied, "Packing. What does it look like?"**_

 _ **"Why?"**_

 _ **She didn't even know why she had felt the need to ask a question that she already knew the answer to but she had done all the same. Maybe it was because she was stalling for time ?... Or maybe it was because she hoped against hope that she was wrong?**_

 _ **"Because," the older woman finally stopped what she was doing and looked up, trying to ignore the pain reflected in the green eyes that were staring helplessly back at her. She knew she was breaking her heart but she really didn't know what else she could do. "I'm leaving, Imogen."**_

 _ **The words reverberated in her head, getting louder and louder with each passing second. She couldn't lose her too…not after everything.**_

 _ **"Is this about earlier, Constance, because if it is then I am truly, truly sorry. You have to know that I didn't mean what I said. Of course I don't blame you; I swear. I swear on Gracie's life that-"**_

 _ **"Imogen," the sorceress cut across her sharply before continuing in a much gentler tone, "I know that you didn't mean to say what you did but you were right... it is my fault. I was supposed to protect her and I f-failed...I failed you both. It's not about earlier, Immy, it's me and I-I can't do this anymore: here...her...us...it's too much."**_

* * *

She turned her attention to the clock once more as time continued to tick by. Her ex-girlfriend was not late, not by any means. In fact, she herself was early, having wanted to make sure nothing stopped her from making it to their meeting.

Since that night, when they had spoken briefly on the phone, there had been a little contact between them (the witch had sent her a card on her birthday three months ago) but she had still been thrown when Constance had called her out of the blue and asked her if she wanted to meet.

It was a question that had required no thought at the time but now, as the time neared ever close, the reality of the situation was beginning to dawn on her. It had been just over four years since she had last clapped eyes on her former flame and, though it didn't sound a lot in the grand scheme of things, four years was a long time.

As that thought echoed in her mind, a whole host of emotions quickly followed, piling up one on top of the other, and she soon found herself in the midst of having some sort of panic attack. It was as though there wasn't enough oxygen in her lungs to draw the proper, full breath that was desperately needed. In fact, it was as though there wasn't enough air full stop; the walls of the cafe closing in around her as her mind began to spin.

She had to get out.

Picking up her bag, she hurried towards the exit, not even looking where she was going until she collided with whoever had been about to enter. A garbled apology escaped her lips, trailing off into silence as she finally looked up and stopped dead in her tracks.

She wanted to hug her, kiss her, to slap her across her beautiful face, but she could only stare. There was so much she wanted to say to her but her brain just seemed to turn to mush and all she could manage was a small squeak of "Hi."

* * *

"I was beginning to think you weren't coming."

"I know, I'm sorry. I just needed another minute."

Imogen said nothing, knowing from past experience that Constance would speak in her own time and could not be made to feel as though she was being pushed into a corner. She was right.

"I went to visit her."

The blonde nodded in an instant understanding. There was no need to ask who 'her' was. She herself often went to visit their daughter's grave and tried to maintain its regular upkeep.

"You've kept it nice. Thank you."

A brief smile graced her features before fading away; it was nice to see her smile again.

 _'I forgot how beautiful that smile is…'_

Glancing around the cafe of the local village, Constance spoke. "It feels so strange being back here. Everything seems so...well, I guess it doesn't matter. Anyway, its good to see you again, Imogen. How are you?"

"I'm well, overall, thank you. You?"

There was a part of her that was afraid to ask.

On the surface, the witch looked a lot better than the last time she had seen her. Her previously waist length hair had been cut short, falling in loose curls just below her shoulders, and Imogen was secretly pleased to see that she managed to put some weight back on. Constance had always been on the skinny side but in the immediate grief and the months that had followed, her weight had plummeted to a dangerously low point. Imogen could still remember all the fights and the pleading; the all-out battle just to get her to drink some water let alone anything else. She still had those high, enviable cheekbones and her dark brown eyes, which showed a hint of the spark that had once been there, before it had all gone wrong, were still as enchanting as ever but she could also see the fear behind them; the wondering as to whether coming back had been a good idea or not.

Despite all that they had been through though, she wondered how honest Constance would actually be with her and whether or not she would revert to her usual proclamation of being 'fine'.

"Better, I think is the most honest answer to that question. I-um...I went to grief counselling...it actually helped a lot."

The blonde could not hide her surprise at the revelation. There had been a point in time when Constance wouldn't have opened up to her so-called closest friends, let alone to a complete stranger, so it showed how far she had come. She was immensely proud of her as she knew how much courage it would have taken Constance to go and seek help and how much inner strength it had taken for her to admit that she needed it in the first place.

"That's good. I'm glad."

There was a few moments of silence as one waited for the other to speak. For two people who had once been so vocal, they were currently stumbling as they struggled to find the words to hold a conversation.

"How is life across the pond then?"

It was a place that she herself loved and ever since she had found out that was where Constance was, she had wondered if that was the reason she had chosen it. Maybe it had been the need for a sense of familiarity; something to cling onto when she was fleeing to the unknown and starting anew.

"Oh, it's certainly different. Better weather for a start!"

Imogen laughed, not needing a reminder of the fact that although the potions mistress had lived and breathed her craft, she had once confessed that — and only sometimes mind — the idea of going out in the freezing cold to go herb picking with the students was not entirely welcome, especially when it meant she had to leave the warmth of their bed and the comfort of her girlfriend's arms. It was a bittersweet memory as she recalled their baby had given a swift kick in response, rather actively telling her that she WAS getting up and there were no two ways about it.

"Can I ask you something?"

"Of course." Constance replied as she took a sip of her tea. On the surface, she appeared calm and collected but her stomach was in knots with the possibilities of what her ex-girlfriend wanted to ask.

"Why did you choose there?"

The witch sighed, "It's the place that you love and although I had get away from Cackles and...everything else, I thought that by going there, I'd still be able to feel close to you… its stupid really. Who knew *I* would turn out to be such a romantic?"

"I did."

Their eyes locked and for a few moments there was nothing else in the world bar the two of them.

* * *

"So you're still teaching then?"

The brunette nodded, "Though my students aren't quite as...colourful, shall we say, as those at Cackles."

"I take it you are referring to Mildred Hubble?"

"Who else?"

"She's a good girl really,Cece," the gym mistress began, stopping abruptly as the old pet named slipped out.

"I know she is," Constance continued, clearly having not heard the slip of the tongue (either that or she was choosing to ignore it) "Never tell her I said this but she actually reminds me a lot of myself when I was her age...though I wasn't *quite* so clumsy but Imogen," she broke off, fiddling with the sugar packet, her nerves getting the better of her as she stalled for time. "I didn't come here to discuss Mildred Hubble, I thought that we should talk….Sandra, my 'therapist' for want of a better word, said that I needed closure and that's why I called you. After all, things between us never really ended. Did they?"

"No," Imogen said quietly, her mind instantly flashing back to the two of them, standing in the courtyard as she had begged Constance to stay. The rain falling heavily on them as the heavens opened; almost like the weather could sense their pain, "I guess they didn't."

A faint whisper brought her back to the present day.

"I'm sorry."

"For what?"

"Everything."

"You weren't in the right state of mind, I understood. It's okay."

"No, it isn't. She-" Constance swallowed as she corrected herself. " _Gracie_ , she was your baby too and I knew that. I was selfish with my grief and that was wrong. You were so brave and so strong...you organised everything, handled all the...arrangements and even when I was being a complete bitch you were still right by my side and I…I was just so angry at the world, Imogen; so angry that I couldn't see straight, but I-I shouldn't have pushed you out... and I shouldn't have run away."

It was an enormous weight off her mind to finally air the guilt that had consumed her for so long.

"Broomhead always said I was a coward. Turns out she was right all along. If you hate me then-"

"Hey, now you listen to me Constance Adrianna Hardbroom, you are, by far, THE bravest woman I know. As for Broomhead, she's just jealous that you have more talent and beauty in one finger than she will ever have in her entire shrivelled up body!"

There was something else to clear up.

"I admit there was a part of me that was angry with you for leaving but I know you did what was best for you-best for us even and you were right, we did both need time and space...we were tearing each other apart. God, what I said to you that day, I was so awful..." her eyes fell to her cup in shame as she continued on. "I hated the situation we were given no choice in, I hated that we were robbed of first words and Christmases and so much more, I hated that I had to listen to you cry yourself to sleep at night, knowing that I couldn't comfort you, but I don't hate you. I could never hate you."

She opened her mouth to say something else but was interrupted as the waitress finally brought their fresh pot of tea over.

During the speech, a loose tear had broken free from the dark eyes opposite her. She reached out, meaning to wipe it away but hesitated mid-air, fearful that she would overstep the mark. Instead, she picked up one of the napkins on the table and handed it to her ex-girlfriend, who gratefully accepted.

* * *

For the next few hours they talked, really talked, connecting on a level that they hadn't been on for a while. Constance told her all about her therapy and the differences teaching in an American witch school while Imogen told of all the crazy goings on at the school, including Miss Bat's latest self-proclaimed brainwave. They spoke about Gracie and the past, even about all the trivial little things that held no great importance but had once meant something special to them both. Their nervousness from earlier was long forgotten as they relaxed in each other's company. The odd smile, a look that lingered a little too long; that touch as their hands brushed against one another.

* * *

"When do you go back?"

Imogen asked as they strolled through the local park, having insisted on walking Constance back to the village B&B she was staying in. It wasn't far away but she wanted to savour every single of the limited seconds they had together before the brunette took off, not knowing when or even if she would see her again. She was doing her best to hide it but inside she was devastated. When Constance had called her, she had really thought it was because she was coming back and wanted them to get back together but, judging from what she had said earlier on, she just wanted closure; to clear the air so she could move towards the future.

A future that clearly didn't contain her.

"Thursday."

"Do you think you'll ever come back?…Permanently I mean?"

"I don't think any of us can predict the future, Imogen; even magic can only tell us so much, but someday...maybe..."

Imogen nodded.

It wasn't a definite no but then it wasn't a yes either.

She said nothing though, knowing it would be wrong of her to mess with the new life Constance had made; the life it had taken her a lot of courage and a long time to rebuild.

For a while, there was silence as they strolled along.

"I'm going to see Amelia before I leave. I think I owe her that much. After all, she was more of a mother to me than mine ever was."

Constance's father had cleared off not long after she was born and to be honest, her mother may as well have left with him. Constance had lost count of the times that her mother had left her home alone while she went out drinking, staying out all night, sometimes disappearing for days at a time, other times bringing back every Tom, Dick and Harry to their cramped flat, leaving her daughter no choice but to learn to stand on her own two feet from an early age.

Imogen remembered the panic attack she had had a few months into her pregnancy, the nonsensical rambling; the fear that she would turn out just like her, and her own whispered reassurances that she would never, ever leave her, alone with the baby or otherwise.

The irony was not lost on her.

Constance was about to say something else when a ball rolled across the path, stopping neatly at her feet. She bent down to pick it up and hand it back its owner, her heart stopping in her chest as she took in the little girl with dark hair and green eyes.

"What do you say to the nice lady, Freya?"

"Thank you."

"You're welcome, dear," she called out as the girl took the ball from her and ran off down the path.

Imogen watched her for a few moments.

"For what it's worth, Con, I think someday you'll make a great mother."

"Thank you," the reply was sincere, "but I think that ship has sailed. It's okay though, I mean I don't think I will ever come even remotely close to 'getting over it' but I've started to come to terms with what happened and I guess...maybe it just wasn't meant to be. What about you? ...Do you think that you'll ever have any more children?"

"I..erm… don't really know."

It was a question she had asked herself a few times. Since she had finally accepted that it was unlikely Constance was coming back, she had tried to move on. Things had gotten pretty serious with Natalie but when the yoga instructor had asked her to move in, she knew in that exact moment that while they had had some fun, she didn't see a future.

"I guess it depends if I find the right woman," the blonde half-joked.

"I'm sure you will. Any woman would be mad not to want you."

"You didn't."

She didn't even realise she had said the words aloud until the witch raised an eyebrow in mild-amusement.

"Like I said, dear- and I've got the therapy bill to prove it."

A comfortable silence fell between them before Imogen spoke again.

"Do you ever think about what could have been?"

"I did...for a long time. In fact, for a while, I didn't even want to be around children let alone teach them again. It's taken some time but I've learnt that it doesn't do to dwell on things we cannot change. I still think about what was though and despite everything we went through, all the heartache and pain, I would do it all again. Everytime."

Dark eyes met with emerald green, the atmosphere around them thick with emotional and heated tension. As she stared into the chocolate brown eyes, the words slipped out before she could stop herself.

"What if we could?"

"If we could what?"

"...Do it all again?"

"Imogen, this — its," Constance spluttered, "we're not the same people we were four years ago; so much more than an ocean separates us."

"Do you still love me?"

"I-"

There was silence.

"Of course I do," the witch finally admitted, her voice just above a whisper and strained with emotion. "There will probably always be a part of me that will love you but it's not that simple, Immy." Her words trailed off as she gazed into those beautiful green eyes. She still dreamt of them... "Just because two people love each other, that doesn't mean that they should be together. We tried - I tried — so hard and it didn't work. I just don't know if-"

She stopped, honestly not knowing where the sentence was heading. Coming back, seeing the one time love of her life again, it had brought up so many questions and answers she didn't know if she was ready to hear.

"Have dinner with me?"

"Pardon?"

"Before you leave, have dinner with me? I'll book a table for Wednesday at eight o'clock and I'll be there waiting. If you turn up, then that means you still believe there could be another chance for us and if not well...I guess this is goodbye."

"Imogen Drill, Are you an affair to remembering me?"

The blonde had despaired of the potions mistress's lack of film knowledge and had, over time, educated her with all the Hollywood greats. Despite the overly dramatic eye rolls, she had wound up thoroughly enjoying the films, and enjoying the company even more. Their weekend in with a film, a good bottle of wine and hot sex soon becoming her favourite part of the week.

"I rather believe I am. Since we have a distinct lack of an Empire State Building to meet on top of, how about the place we had our first proper date? You don't have to say yes now but please, please say you'll think about it? We were good together once, Cece, and we could be again."

Not trusting her voice, Constance nodded indicating she would consider the offer.

"Right, well. I had best be getting back now but it was great to see you again and I am so glad you're doing better; you deserve the world Constance, whether I am a part of that or not. I'll see you on Wednesday...I hope."

* * *

She stared at the clock on the restaurant wall, her eyes fixated on the minute hand as it got ever closer to the eighth hour.

So far…

Nothing.

It was hard not to feel disappointed but she had left herself open to this; Constance hadn't actually said she would be here so if she didn't turn up then she couldn't really be upset. As the clock struck eight though, she felt that last flame of hope she had carried for so long douse and turn to ashes. So that was that…

It was officially over.

She closed her eyes gently as she felt her tears escaping. She had no idea how long she had been sat crying for when she heard the familiar click of high heels against the flooring. Opening her eyes, she was taken aback by what she could see through her blurred vision.

"You actually came," she whispered.

The brunette nodded slowly as she sat down.

Her lips were painted in deep red lipstick and she was wearing a dress that was sexy and revealing but without being too slutty. In fact, she was wearing the dress she had worn on their first date, in this exact place; the very dress the blonde had torn off her many times in the past before it all went sour.

"It wasn't supposed to be forever, you know?"

Imogen's head shot up so fast she thought her neck would snap, "Us?"

"Leaving."

"Oh."

"I thought about coming back so many times."

"Why didn't you?"

Constance let out a shuddery breath, "Honestly? I was too afraid. Everything was such a mess when I left, me more than anything, and I think there just came a point where it was easier to stay away. On paper at least...but off paper, I can't get you out of my head and what's more, I don't want to. Not seeing you everyday is so much harder than I could ever have imagined and the thought of never seeing you again...it's something I can't even bear to think about."

She broke off, trying to compose herself before she continued, knowing she had to say what was on her mind before she lost her courage.

"You told me yesterday that I deserve the world but the truth is, Immy, that it doesn't matter where I am because it's not my world if you're not in it. I'm not saying that it will be easy and it might not even work and I-I know there is a lot to sort out and a lot more talking for us to do but, maybe, we could try again?...If you still want to, that is?"

She broke off, mid-ramble, looking up at the emerald eyes that were brimming with unshed tears.

"You have no idea how long I have waited to hear you say that."

The familiar touch of electricity sparked as their lips connected, gentle at first but quickly deepening as they conveyed everything that had ever been said and everything that hadn't; four years of love and loss, of memories and regrets poured into a single kiss. Eventually, they broke apart, foreheads resting against one another.

* * *

"I'm sorry it took me so long." Constance whispered.

They both knew she wasn't referring to turning up late for dinner.

Reaching out across the table, Imogen took her hand, entwining it with her own; like two missing pieces of a jigsaw coming back together.

"You're here now, and that's all that matters."


End file.
